by A. C. Mason
The beige lighting in the parking lot shone on the velvety texture of her skin. Vaihan turned on the engine, put the car in reverse, pulled out of his parking spot. Arrows marked the path he followed to the exit. He pushed the lock button again. If he tapped the brakes at a low speed and she didn’t fall out, the strap was probably secure. He stopped at the pay counter.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Louchian.” The young lad behind the glass counter smiled.
“Jazz, back on the evening shift?” Vaihan removed a twenty from the cup holder.
“Yes, but only while Frank is away.” He tapped commands into a keyboard. “Your total comes to ten dollars.”
He held out the cash. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.” The young man saluted off his turban.
In the last few moments, Leera had not spoken a word, though he was sure she’d observed his interaction with the youth.
Vaihan pressed the gas then hit the brake.
Leera gasped but remained in her seat. Good. The belt appeared secure. Though, at high impact it could react differently...not that he was about to test his theory.
“I’m sorry.” He merged the vehicle onto the road. “Where to, beaute?” Beauty.
“The corner of Kenmore Drive Northwest and Charleston Terrace Northwest. Know it?” She slid her feet back along the car mat, raising her knees. The satin fabric of her peach dress slipped further up. No panty lines were visible. Was she bare beneath?
Excitement rushed to his cock.
The hard peaks of her nipples pressed to the material of her gown. Not since Elizabeth had he allowed a woman to rouse his lust before he figured out her level of receptiveness toward him–his kind. Was his interest heightened because she was off-limits? Common sense would dictate he refrain from sleeping with a woman he was using to get to someone else–especially when the target was her brother.
“Near the reservoir?” He met her gaze.
“That’s the place.” Her pretty glossy lips curved to one side. “And you, where do you call home?”
“A cemetery.”
Her eyes widened to saucers. “You tease.” A subtle breath escaped, relaxing her shoulders.
“Not entirely.” He merged onto Canal Road Northwest. “My place is across from the Oak Hill cemetery near Twenty-ninth Street. One of the benefits is that the people across the way are quiet.”
Trees lined the roadway and the moon shimmered off the water.
“My husband is not buried here. His family is Catholic. They had his body laid to rest in the family cemetery back in France. I had a headstone put at the Holy Rood Cemetery to have somewhere to pay my respects.” She fidgeted with her hands in her lap.
“Does it help?”
Leera shook her head as she turned to the window. “This winter will have been a year since the accident. I should be getting on with living.” Streaks of lights from the streetlamps flashed in her vacant eyes.
“There isn’t anything wrong with standing still while everything around you is moving.” Human life was but a blink. Why spend time running after smoke?
“I’m the red brick on the left side of the cul-de-sac.” She pointed to the post-War bungalow-style home.
Vaihan pulled into the driveway behind a shiny blue Honda Fit. “I’ll be doing the driving on our outings as I don’t fit in the Fit.”
“It’s bigger than it looks.” She grinned.
“I, on the other hand, I am as big as I seem.”
Her stare stopped at the bulge in his pants then met his gaze. “Point taken. Your car it is.” Her cheeks grew pink.
Whether she was ready or not, her body was propositioning him to relieve her, bringing his cock to full attention. He too missed the connection of having someone to share his body with.
He got out and opened her door. “Here you go, beaute.” Lifting his arm, he waited for her to accept his offer of assistance.
Leera placed her hand on his. He tugged her to her feet then shut the door. The cool night air passed between them. As they walked in tandem, he narrowed the distance.
A soft glow flooded the porch. He stopped on the step just below.
“I’m not usually like this.” She shielded her eyes with her hand.
“Listen.” He lowered her hand from her face. “Don’t apologize to me for having a heart. My only hope is that you are open to sharing the joys this strange world has to offer once more.”
She blinked, sending tears down her cheeks. “You are a very strange man, Vaihan Louchian.”
“I’m no man. I’m undead, but very much alive in soul. When I’m with you, my corpse comes to life.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the velvety surface. A tornado of hunger ripped through him and saliva pooled in his mouth. His body prepared to paralyze his meal. The frenzy in his every cell wreaked havoc and reminded him that though he wasn’t living, he still existed. He peeled his lips from her flesh, careful not to leave any toxin behind.
She let out a gasp and stepped into the house.
“I’ll pick you up Thursday at seven PM.” This assignment was a disaster. The woman’s grief ran so deep, and yet, he felt drawn to her.
“On the nose.” With a smile, she closed the door. The lock clicked and her footsteps moved away from the entrance. What if the mechanism had failed? She’d have no way of knowing that someone could break in through the front. Better he check. Hand on the doorknob, he turned and pushed in. Resistance from the lock kept the door closed.
With that he headed to the car. What if the force he’d used to verify she was safe had broken the lock? If he didn’t confirm her security and something happened, he’d regret it. On the other hand, going back would only feed into his OCD. He slipped into the car. The light from the large front window went out. She hadn’t turned the alarm system on. Nothing would alert her to an intruder. And he hadn’t the decency to check the woman’s lock a second time, out of fear of his condition. He stood and marched to the porch.
Not to alarm her, he cradled the handle with his fingers and slowly turned. The springs inside the lock mechanism squealed. Well, that was a smooth move, Casanova. He hoped she hadn’t heard.
The knob slipped from his hand and the door swung open. “What are you doing?” Leera stood in a satin beige housecoat. Her nipples were hard buds, pressing to the thin material and her freshly washed face beamed.
Lying wouldn’t help his cause, at this point. “Checking that your door was locked.” He backed away. “You didn’t latch the chain.”
“I usually do that when I’m off to bed, and I hadn’t yet finished getting ready.” The sharp edge of her eyes softened, as did the rigid line of her shoulders. “I appreciate you checking up on me.”
Warmth fluttered inside him. She wasn’t angry with him. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Her lips spread into a wide smile over her teeth. “I promise to put the chain on then turn the alarm on.”
“Good night, Ms. Waltz.”
“You too, Vaihan.” The door slid into the frame. Mechanisms clanked and chains rattled then hooked. No way could he check all over again. She’d think he was crazy.
Every step toward his vehicle, his legs felt heavier. He should at least verify once more that she was safe, shouldn’t he? No. No way.
* * * *
Vaihan pushed the door closed to his brownstone.
Flint rushed out from the kitchen, wiping the blood on his hand onto a dishtowel. “Quinn and Sam are grounded again,” he said, and tapped his foot on the hardwood floor.
As the elder of the three, Flint’s patience level with the two newer undead guys waned.
“What might they have done this time?” Vaihan fixed his gaze on Flint, trying to suppress his amusement.
“They offered to buy a woman’s baby.” With his hands to the heavens, he shook his head.
Vaihan chuckled. “Did she slap one, or both? Were the police contacted?” Most of his neighbors knew his house acted as a halfway house for newer u
ndead. They had tried to have him thrown out but those attempts went unanswered.
“No. She crossed the road and kept looking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t followed. Embarrassing.” He shook his head. “You’re home early.”
“I am.”
“Did they not play well this evening?” Flint drummed his chin with his fingers.
“The performance was exquisite.” And so was Leera.
“What’s that smile about?” He leaned on the wall.
Vaihan’s BlackBerry vibrated. “I need to take this.” As he leaped up the stairs, he withdrew the device from the holster.
“Hello, Vaihan?” a man questioned in a high-pitched voice.
He pressed the smartphone to his ear. “Yes, Ralph...”
“I don’t mean to call you so late. I was catching up on some paperwork and wanted to talk to you about this letter you want me to send to Jean Denoix’s widow’s lawyer. We’ve known each other a long time. This woman is trying to move on with her life. Let this go.” A heavy sigh was breathed into his ear.
Maybe the woman didn’t need to hear what her husband had said to him in the moments before his death, but he couldn’t rest until she told him herself to let this go. Just because he couldn’t stay for the police with the dead body in his trunk didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about the man’s widow. “I want you to track down the client.”
“I can’t do that. I’d be breaking a whole bunch of laws.”
“And suddenly that is an issue.” Fine time for him to decide he wanted to only do things aboveboard. “I’m calling in all the favors you owe me. Get this for me, and you get a clean slate.”
“You’re such a bastard.”
When he had to be. “Thanks, Ralph. We’ll meet up once you have a name so there won’t be a record of the exchange of information. No one will ever know. Call me when you have what I want.” He pressed the End Call button.
Chapter 7
Rowley hated calling Peter’s house. Speaking to the missus was like speaking to a dim-witted teen. Leera’s sister in-law was a piece of work, and if he didn’t need Peter at Devin’s arraignment in the morning, he’d wait and call the office.
“Hello,” the doe on the other side of the line said.
“Hello, Meg, is Peter around?” Rowley asked.
“I sent him out to get me ice cream–pregnant woman craving. Did you want me to let him know you called?” The pitch of her voice annoyed him.
If his purpose wasn’t to speak to Peter, why the fuck would he call? The woman wasn’t too bright. Pretty, but not much else. “I’d appreciate that very much.”
“Sure thing. Rowley, did you hear the latest about Leera?”
“No.” His heart pounded in his chest. “What about her?”
“She’s going on a date. Isn’t that so exciting?”
Not in the least. “Oh, really? Who’s the lucky chap?”
“Well, he isn’t a chap. He’s one of those undead. Vaihan Louchian. You know of him, right?”
The creature was pursuing his woman. “Yeah, the Special Advisor to the President in Undead Relations.”
“Vaihan is such a gem. I really hope they hit it off, don’t you? Leera’s been so depressed. I think this is really good for her.”
Not if he could stop it. “I’ve got to run. Please, let Peter know I called.”
“Will do. ’Bye.”
Rowley jabbed the End Call button with his thumb. No way would Leera agree to go out with one of those things. Meg had to have her facts wrong.
* * * *
Rowley hit the red door with his fist again. Every moment since his call with Meg, he’d grown more frantic about whether Leera would go out on a date with an undead. Could he have let her slip away again? No. Not this time. He could turn this around.
The volume of the music inside the house lowered. The winter chill bit into him. He lifted his hands to his mouth and blew. The door opened.
Leera stood in jeans and a t-shirt with her curls pulled back. “Hi, Rowley, great to see you.”
With his arms crossed over his chest, he entered. “Is it true?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Is what true?”
There was no way she could think nothing of what she had agreed to. “Are you going out on a date with that thing?” Heat tightened around his torso at the idea of her with one those creatures, but especially with one able to endear itself to the nation.
A soft breath escaped her lips. “Yes. Vaihan is taking me out to dinner.”
What possible reason did she have to mix with zombies? “You mean it’s going to have you for dinner.”
Leera chuckled. “No, he won’t, it would hinder any possibility of a second date.”
“You think this is a joke?” For months he’d wanted to see her smile, but not under these circumstances. “We’re food to those creatures. I care about you and couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.” He took her hand, locking his fingers with hers.
“Nothing will happen to me.” She stepped back.
“They’re freaks of nature, abominations. You’re a smart, sexy woman. You don’t need to resort to this...this thing.” He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“I’m not resorting to anything.” She retreated. “It’s one outing.”
Was it him, or was she being standoffish? “If I’d known you wanted to go out, I’d have taken you.” He caught her wrist.
Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want pity.”
“Pity?” That wasn’t even close to what he felt. “I want you, Leera. My feelings for you have never changed. I’ve been trying to do the right thing here and give you the time you need to grieve.” He slid his hand around her waist.
“It’s not a switch I can turn on and off. Where one day I can say I’m grieving and the next I’m past it.” She took hold of his arm and slid away. “But I want to start living again, okay?”
Something was definitely up. Every time he touched her, she backed off. “I want that for you too.” For him to get his Lee-lee back.
“When would we go?” She smiled.
The sooner the better. “Thursday.” He reached for her.
“No,” she said, withdrawing from him. “That’s when Vaihan is taking me out.”
Why would she go through with the date? Rowley huffed. “Friday night, then?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “What time?”
“May I pick you up at 6:30?” Now all he needed to do was prove to her he was everything she wanted. What could an undead give her?
She smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Is there no way I can talk you out of seeing it?” If that thing so much as hurt a hair on her, he’d take it down. Sooner than later.
She shook her head. “No, and don’t call him an it.”
There was nothing else he could call a dead thing. “All right. I don’t like you seeing it, but soon enough I’ll sweep you off your feet.” Into his bed. Rowley rested his hand on her shoulder.
She parted her full lips and let out a soft exhalation. “Friday it is, then.”
“I look forward to spending time with you.” He kissed her cheek.
“I do too.” With a nod, she stepped back.
He wouldn’t win her over with anger. “I’m sorry, I lost my cool.” But he felt her slipping away again. He wouldn’t let that happen this time.
“Behind us.” She took his hand between both of hers and squeezed.
Something was off about her. She’d never been one to have a large personal bubble.
Chapter 8
A prickly sensation creeped up Vaihan’s neck. A light shone from the crack at the bottom of his office door, which his assistant Stacy would have turned off. The man was invaluable, had a head for all the little details. Besides security detail, no one else should be in the west wing of the White House at ten PM. The soles of his Italian shoes pounded the marble floor, bouncing off the bare walls, as he ran.
The scent of cheap aftershave and velvet reeked of Barton.
Vaihan turned the handle and opened the door.
A large-rimmed orange hat covered Barton’s bald head. His loud matching sport jacket brought his outfit to the pinnacle of offensive.
“Why are you at the office?” Barton said. “Shouldn’t you be out with Miss Hot Thing?”
The thought of Barton even thinking of Leera in such away had his fist clenching. “I told you, I’d follow up when I had something.”
“From my vantage point, you’ve lost your touch.” He tilted his head.
The man might be thirteen or thirty–same difference. What did he know of trust or women? “I’m building trust so she brings me around her family. That’s how it works. Women don’t bring just any man to family functions. Hence, why you’ve never been invited to one.”
“I’ve been to plenty.”
He didn’t need to explain to him. “If you say so.”
“I’m keeping an eye on you, Mr. Louchian.”
Both eyes would be more practical, but he wouldn’t judge. Hopefully Barton hadn’t a clue that Vaihan was more likely to believe in flying pigs than a word coming out of his mouth. Something just didn’t feel right about his assignment with the widow, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “You have your methods and I have mine.” After all, he did work for the government, and knew what the public was told and what really went on were continents apart.
“It would seem.” Barton placed an elbow on his knee and rested his face in his hand. “Know a zombie by the name of Delmar?”
“Small-time chop shop motor-head? Just over the Maryland border in Randolph Village.”
“One and the same.”
What was the game tonight? “Is there a point?”
“Rumor is, he’s running a sex den with underage girls for the Mob in the warehouse next to his garage.”
He couldn’t accuse the Mob of not being adaptive. Scum. If it wasn’t the fucking feds, it was his own kind. The one thing above all others Vaihan couldn’t stomach was messing with women or children. “Thanks. Anything else I can do for God and country?”
Barton got up. “Are you offering?”
